


poetry

by beespiesandplaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beespiesandplaid/pseuds/beespiesandplaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco finds Harry's attempts at romance rather amusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	poetry

He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but he can only assume that it’s a result of the way Draco is kissing him, slow and insistent whilst his hands trace patterns across his back. He smells all citrusy, and his skin is still damp from the shower – it’s enough to confuse the most intelligent of brains.

And Harry doesn’t have the most intelligent of brains, so he really stood no chance.

“I want to write poetry on your skin with my lips,” he murmurs.

Draco pulls away and raises an eyebrow, and Harry wants to take it back, but _it’s kind of true_ especially when he looks like this, all kiss flushed and warm.

“Poetry, Potter?”

“Er?”

“Is that so? With your lips?”

“Draco!”

Draco smirks. “First off, I think forming letters with your mouth would be quite a challenge-“

“It was a metaphor!”

“- and secondly, I didn’t know you wrote poetry, Potter.”

“You can call me Harry you know. We’ve been dating for six months.”

“Doesn’t have the same ring to it when I’m mocking you.”

“You,” Harry says, “Are an arse.”

Draco laughs, tipping his head back. His hair glints in the sliver of moonlight that peeks through the curtains.

“Anyway, I don’t write poetry. Well, I did once, but… it was bad.”

Draco grins even more. “Do tell, Potter, who did you write poetry about?”

Harry bites his lip and glares. “Not saying.”

“Me! You wrote poetry about me! oh man, fifteen year old Draco would be wetting himself if he knew.”

“Well. It was when I was fifteen.”

“That long ago, really?”

Harry feels his face flame. “It wasn’t romantic! At least, I didn’t think so. I was just so… infuriated by you. In hindsight, lines like “spun gold hair” and “press him against a wall until he begs for mercy” probably should have alerted me to the fact that something more was going on…”

Draco buries his face in Harry’s neck, and Harry can feel his laughter tickling his skin. “It’s not funny!” he protests, “I was full of teenage angst and it was very distressing.”

“Oooohhh, Harry, caress my spun gold hair.”

“I’ll actually shove you against a wall in a minute,” Harry says. “And not in a sexy way.”

“Oh?” Draco says, shifting his hips and reminding Harry that he is sat right in Draco’s lap.

“Oi! Not fair. Keep still.”

No one should be allowed to smirk like that.

“Alright, Potter. Quid pro quo – you told me about your poetry, I’ll tell you about mine.”

“Really? You write poetry?”

“I have an arsty side,” Draco says, dead pan. Harry can’t tell if he is joking or not. But then Draco leans in, kissing him gently and murmuring against his ear.

“I’ve got an entire notebook dedicated to your eyes,” he says, “And seventeen pages about your knuckles, and the way your skin tastes. I wrote an essay about the way my heart feels when you laugh. And your face when I do this -“ he pauses to nip at his lips, breath hot breath across his mouth, twine his hands in Harry’s hair.

Harry gasps.

“And that noise,” Draco murmurs, and he is definitely not keeping still, and Harry can’t really think straight any more. “I’d write _songs_ about that noise.”

“Draco…” he manages, wondering how his poetry is laughable and Draco’s mention of writing about his eyes is apparently the most erotic thing he’s ever encountered.

“mmmm?” Draco murmurs.

“Stop waffling about your bloody poetry and kiss me properly before I explode.”

“Oh alright. This conversation isn’t over though, Potter.”

“Call me Harry.”

“That conversation is not over either.”

“Ssshhhh! I can’t kiss you if you keep opening your great big mouth.”

 


End file.
